Where the Woods End

by Charlotte Salter

  She realized why Finn looked strange. He was wearing a new sweater. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything that didn’t have holes, although the sleeves drooped over his hands, and it was so long he’d pulled it over his feet. Kestrel recognized it at once. It had belonged to the woodchopper.

  Without warning Finn reached out and pulled her into a hug. Kestrel stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into his bony arms. It was like being hugged by a pile of twigs. She could smell wood chips and sausages. She wiped her running nose on his shoulder.

  “Don’t be sad,” Finn said.

  “Okay,” Kestrel said, surprised by his grown-up tone.

  A wolf’s howl cut through the night. Finn jumped, knocking the lantern out of the tree so they were plunged into darkness. Pippit was on Kestrel’s shoulder in an instant, his warm breath tickling her ear.

  They were all frozen in silence, and Kestrel was just starting to breathe again when they heard a second howl, then a third, then countless more all merging into a violent cacophony of noise.

  “They’re talking to one another,” Kestrel said, her blood turning cold. “They’re hunting something big.”

  They all knew what it was even before Pippit spoke.

  “Trapper!” he cried.

  For a second Kestrel was frozen, her thoughts grinding to a sudden, panicked halt. Then she hurled herself from the tree, crashing through the branches until she hit the ground. She scrambled up and pounded toward the noise. She couldn’t see a thing, but instinct drove her through the trees in seconds. She didn’t care how many wolves there were. Her dad was in trouble.

  Kestrel was just about to plunge into the thick, thorny undergrowth when the black dog ran from the shadows and launched itself at her. A huge tangle of teeth and claws and fur hit her from the side.

  She landed with her left arm twisted painfully beneath her. She felt a huge, crushing weight on her chest. She screamed with rage and tried to throw the black dog off, but it dug its teeth into her elbow, right into the joint. Pippit cried out and tried to bite the dog, but it knocked him away with a single swipe.

  Something crashed through the trees above them, and Kestrel saw Finn scrambling through the leaves, the blanket still caught around his ankle.

  “Kes!” he called.

  “Hide!” she shouted. But it was too late. The dog had already seen him.

  Kestrel wriggled out from underneath the dog, but it didn’t attack her again. Instead, it took another long, hard look at Finn, as though making a decision. Then it rolled its tongue around its mouth and dropped something on the ground. Kestrel held her breath. It was dark, but she could just make it out: a piece of brown cloth.

  “Is that from my dad’s coat?” she breathed. “Have you seen him?”

  The dog picked it up again and jerked its head, as though it wanted her to follow.

  “Do you know where he is?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Show me!”

  The dog started to run. Kestrel had no idea why it was helping her, but she didn’t have time to worry about that now. She took off after it, Finn’s and Pippit’s shouts fading behind them.

  She followed the dog through the trees, crashing back through the stream, plowing through the deepening snow. It took her a few minutes to realize they were going back toward the village.

  “Wait!” she yelled. “Hang on!”

  But the dog didn’t slow down, and she was afraid to lose him. She bolted straight into the village, following it all the way to her mother’s door. For a moment she wondered if he was inside, if he’d fled back to the village to hide from a pack of ravenous wolves.

  The door to her mother’s house was already open. Her mother was sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged, wool twined between her outstretched fingers.

  Kestrel followed the dog inside, gasping for breath. The dog trotted up to her mother and dropped the piece of cloth in front of her. She inspected it, then gave a sudden, strangled cackle.

  She was laughing.

  The door slammed behind them. The dog lay down beside her mother, grinning. Only then did Kestrel realize she’d been tricked.

  “Clever boy,” her mother crooned, scratching the dog between the ears. The piece of cloth dissolved into the floor. Kestrel tried to grab it, but her fingers met bare wood. “What a good idea. You’ve got brains, haven’t you?”

  The dog growled, and her mother’s fingers paused between its ears. She was listening to what it was saying.

  Kestrel tried to back toward the door, but the dog stood up, ready to pounce. One bite and all the blood would drain from her body.

  Her mother’s stare crawled all over her like a nest of ants.

  “Where were you sprinting off to in the dark, all alone?” her mother asked, although it was clear from her tone that she knew exactly what was happening. “You know you’re not allowed to do that. You were supposed to be getting me mushrooms, and you disappeared, you ungrateful wretch.” She scratched the dog again, and it gave a low, happy rumble. “It’s a good thing the dog keeps an eye on you. We can’t have you running after wolves every time they make a bit of noise.”

  With every long second that oozed by, Kestrel knew the wolves’ teeth could be around her dad’s neck. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to concentrate on her mother.

  “Dad’s being chased by them,” Kestrel said, ignoring the taste of blood in her mouth. “He needs help.”

  “What makes you think it’s a wolf?” her mother asked softly, and the truth hit Kestrel like a sack of bricks.

  The wolves weren’t howling because they had him by the throat.

  They were celebrating because something else did.

  Kestrel threw herself at her mother. The black dog barreled into her back, knocking her flat against the floor, but it didn’t stop her kicking and screaming. “You saw it in the weave! His grabber is after him. And you made him go back into the forest!”

  “That was his choice,” her mother said dangerously. “He wouldn’t be any safer in the village.”

  “That’s a lie!” she shouted. “If he stayed here, I could have helped!”

  “Lower your voice,” her mother said, so calmly that Kestrel instantly went still.

  “Down,” her mother said to the dog, but Kestrel stayed there, her cheek pressed against the cool of the floor, her face burning.

  Kestrel waited for the dog to bite her, but to her surprise, it never did.

  “I’ll let you go after your father, if that’s what you want,” her mother said. “But first you have to make me a promise.”

  Kestrel raised herself to her knees, spitting splinters. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

  Her mother twitched an eyebrow, looking just a tiny bit impressed.

  “I asked you once if you were friends with that boy,” her mother said. “You lied to me.”

  “So?” said Kestrel fiercely.

  Her mother reached up and plucked something from the weave. She held a small incisor tooth between her thumb and forefinger, making sure Kestrel could see it properly. Scratched into the back in tiny, cramped letters was Finnigan.

  Kestrel didn’t dare move. She felt like one small breath might shatter everything.

  “It would take me three seconds to stop the poor boy’s heart,” she said matter-of-factly. “Imagine that—he’d be sitting in a tree, with all the joy of the world in him, and suddenly . . .”

  She held the tooth delicately, almost lovingly. Finally, after a horribly long time, her mother closed her fist around it and slipped it into her pocket.

  “We’ll make a real bargain, this time,” her mother said. “One with consequences. You will never, ever speak to that feral boy again. You’ll no longer have anything to do with him.”

  Kestrel stared at her. She felt dizzy. She didn’t know what to say.

 
“I don’t know how to make it any clearer, Kestrel,” her mother snapped, grabbing her arm so hard Kestrel cried out. “I have his teeth, and I will not hesitate to remove him from this earth if you speak a single word to him!”

  “Mum,” Kestrel begged, trying to twist her arm away.

  “In return I’ll call off the dog, and you can go after your father,” her mother said, calm again. “Come, now. It’s not like he’s a good friend. Isn’t he spending an awful lot of time with the woodchopper’s daughter? Sweet girl. Beautiful face.” She saw Kestrel’s expression and smiled wickedly.

  Kestrel shook her head fiercely. “I can give you something better,” she said. “I can clean and make food and—”

  “I don’t want anything else,” said her mother. “Only to help you. Get rid of him, and you’ll be stronger and more fearsome than ever.”

  Her mother released her grip, but Kestrel felt like she was being crushed by the tiny house. The weave was everywhere, tangled into her hair, pressed against her mouth and nose. Without thinking, she slipped her hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the holey stone.

  “What do you say?” her mother asked. “Are you ready to grow up and leave your childish ways behind?”

  Kestrel closed her eyes and tried to force the words out of her mouth. She almost failed. Then she heard the triumphant crowing of the wolves, their howls moving farther away. She released the stone.

  “Yes,” Kestrel whispered.

  “Show me,” her mother said, tapping her own cheek.

  Slowly, Kestrel leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. Her skin was dry and soft, as though there was no bone beneath it. She hadn’t kissed her mother in a long time. Maybe even since her grandma was taken.

  “Bless you, child,” her mother whispered. “We’ll make a hunter of you yet.”

  Kestrel stepped back, suppressing the urge to wipe her lips.

  “Dog!” her mother called, beckoning. “Come here!”

  The black dog oozed over to her. Its ears were folded back, and its tail was between its legs. It looked as though it knew exactly what was about to happen.

  “This is final,” her mother said.

  “I know,” said Kestrel.

  Her mother’s fingers flew over the piece of black string, tying a huge knot in the middle. The dog jerked twice like it was being kicked, then it keeled over and lay on its side, breathing gently, its tail twitching in some kind of dream.

  “Come back to me as soon as you’re done,” her mother said curtly, “or Finn dies anyway. Go.”

  “Thank you,” Kestrel gasped, and fled.

  Finn was waiting in the trees, a limp and sodden Pippit in his hand. Pippit twisted out of his grasp and ran to Kestrel, shooting up her leg and licking the side of her face with his tiny, sandpapery tongue.

  “What happened?” Finn said worriedly, looking around for the dog. “Kes?”

  “Not now,” she choked, stuffing Pippit into her pocket.

  “Wait!” he shouted, but she was already away, plunging into the forest again, her heart cracking in a dozen places.

  Nettles whipped her legs and sharp stones pierced the soles of her boots, but nothing would slow her down. She ignored the hot, ragged pain in her chest. She had to get to her dad before it was too late. She had to kill the grabber before it took him.

  She ran toward the tree-covered hill that the wolves’ howls had come from. The forest grew darker and danker, the ground squelchy and moist underfoot. There was moss everywhere, and the earth smelled rich and boggy.

  A wolf howled on the hill above her. Kestrel deflated. It felt like everything was leaking from her in one huge whoosh. The fear that she had been holding back since she left the village oozed out of every pore like little black worms.

  She wished that Finn was here with her. She wished that she was back in the moment before the wolves howled, when her face was pressed into his sweater and everything felt just a tiny bit better.

  Without warning she remembered what Finn had tried to say the other day, when she was after the woodchopper’s grabber, and suddenly she understood.

  It’s just that I—

  “I care about him, too, Pip,” said Kestrel, feeling awful and empty. “He knows that, right?”

  Pippit didn’t say anything. Kestrel shook her head, took one last deep breath, and braced herself.

  She was ready.

  THE BLIND WOLF

  Kestrel scrambled up a viciously steep hill, following the tracks left by her father and his grabber. From his deep footprints, and the ones right behind his, she could see he was being chased. The grabber had four footprints and lots of claws. Every time her dad’s footprints changed direction Kestrel’s heart leaped into her throat, wondering if they would suddenly disappear, if the grabber had caught up with him here or here. But they kept going, on and on, as though the grabber had kept just missing him.

  Pippit sat on the crown of her head, muttering urgently under his breath.

  “Bad smell,” he said, unhappily scratching his head with his back leg.

  Kestrel could smell it, too: a sweet, cloying scent that stuck to the back of her throat. It was getting stronger the farther they went.

  The hill kept rising steeply in front of them, as though the forest was trying to climb into the sky. Kestrel stumbled to a halt in front of a thick wall of trees. A great, gulping silence fell over them. The sweetness was so thick she could almost chew it.

  “Something’s wrong,” she whispered.

  “There,” said Pippit, twitching.

  There was something human-shaped lurking in the shadows behind the trees, not hidden quite well enough to escape her sharp eyes. She had a dark, worried feeling in her gut, the kind that tells you it’s a great time to start running in the opposite direction.

  Maybe it was her father’s grabber, lying in wait. Kestrel gritted her teeth and crept closer.

  Suddenly, the thing dodged away from her, a long brown coat flapping through the trees.

  “Dad!” she screamed, her heart racing. “Dad, it’s me! It’s Kestrel!”

  Her dad stopped and turned. He looked at her for a second, as though he wasn’t sure what to do; then he pounded toward her in his heavy boots.

  “Kestrel!” he shouted, flying toward her.

  “Dad!” she said when he reached her, trying to hold back a big, childish sob. She ran into his arms and he held her tightly. “I thought your grabber had you.”

  “I gave it the slip,” he said, looking around. “It won’t be gone for long. Follow me!”

  “Wait,” she gasped. She wanted to cling on to him just for a few more seconds, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, but he was already running.

  Kestrel scrambled after him. He wasn’t wearing any of the metal traps that usually swung around his waist, or the fringe of teeth that decorated his hat. He must have shed them for speed. That’s why he’d lost his grabber, Kestrel thought; he was cleverer than the other villagers. A huge bubble of joy swelled inside her. And now he had her. He was going to survive.

  “Where are we going?” she asked between breaths, trying to keep up with him. They slipped between two gnarled trees.

  “We’ve got to hide.”

  “But we could fight—”

  “Quiet, Kestrel.”

  The snap in his voice stung. Before Kestrel could say anything, her dad grasped her wrist. His grip was strong, and he hauled her through the trees so fast her feet barely touched the floor.

  “Dad, you’re hurting me,” she gasped as she went flying over the rocks.

  “Quickly!” he insisted.

  They emerged in a small hollow. Trees crowded around it like a wall, and dead needles made a bristling carpet on the floor. Kestrel’s dad released her and bent over to catch his breath.

  “Tell me what happene
d,” she demanded.

  “There’s so much,” he said, his face falling.

  He dropped to his knees. Kestrel, her bravery crumbling, ran into his arms. She was cold and tired and any minute now the grabber would be on their trail.

  “I’ll get it,” she said fiercely. “I’ll kill your grabber before it has a chance to blink.”

  Her dad hugged her tight. Kestrel sagged and breathed in deeply, longing for the smell of dirt and old wool and wolf blood.

  But her dad stank like rotting flowers.

  Kestrel gagged. She tried to twist her face to the side, so she could breathe, but her dad’s fingers dug in too tight.

  “Stupid little girl,” her dad said, his voice twisting in the middle, changing into something new.

  Kestrel screamed. She looked up, then wished that she hadn’t.

  The creature she was hugging wasn’t her dad; it wasn’t even human. It had a bald, liver-spotted head and a blurry face that looked like a painting half rubbed out. She tried to focus on its nose, but her eyes kept sliding away from it, as though there was nothing to see. It only had the shadow of a face, a blurry jumble that was impossible to look at without feeling like you were sliding sideways.

  “Let’s have a look,” the creature said as she struggled. It grasped her hair, peeling her away just enough that it could see her properly. “Not bad. I’ve, ha, outdone myself.”

  Kestrel did the only thing possible, which was to spit at it. The creature disgustedly pushed her away and wiped its face. It shrugged off her dad’s brown coat, which slumped to the ground like it had fainted.

  “Where’s my dad?” Kestrel shouted, bunching her fists.

  “The hunter?” it said. It sneered despite its lack of a discernible face. “I don’t know. I just took his things.”

  Now Kestrel could see the creature properly. It had long, pale legs, jutting knees, and stumpy feet with ingrown toenails. Its arms were similarly long. Its fingers were twice the length of Kestrel’s, and it had no thumbs. Its skin was greasy and pale like an uncooked sausage.